


Dareth Shiral

by ergophobia



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:36:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28702281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ergophobia/pseuds/ergophobia
Summary: A very nice Dalish lady makes her way to the Conclave with absolutely no ulterior motives.
Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Varric Tethras, Female Lavellan/Varric Tethras
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Slowly attempting to make my way through the story of Imira Lavellan and her sordid affair with Varric Tethras. I’ll add any relevant tags or relationships as they come up!

Korval considered himself a good man. Maybe not the best man, but he’d always traded at a fair price, had never been unfaithful in twenty years of marriage, and honored his debts enough that when an old friend asked him to take the long trek over to Ferelden to deliver some supplies and a few specialty items, he agreed. He was good enough that he couldn’t understand what he might have done to deserve his wagon stuck knee deep in mud on a Maker-forsaken road in the middle of the Ferelden wilderness. Half a day now. He cursed loudly as he tried giving it another good shove, just to feel like he was doing something.

“It ent moving, Kor,” Fagrin said, leaned up against a tree, puffing at an old wooden pipe. “Just wait till Rodrin gets back with some help.”

“For how much I’m paying for your muscles, you two should have been enough,” Korval grunted, giving the wagon one last shove. Even the druffalo had given up at this point, sat down in front of the wagon like two furry boulders.

“You hired us for bandits,” Fagrin said, offering Korval his pipe as he pulled himself onto the grassy bend. Even there it squelched unpleasantly under his boots. “Ferelden mud is somethin’ else.”

Korval frowned deeply as he stared down the road, hoping Rodrin would somehow appear coming over the hill with a whole host of soldiers behind him. It’d take at least that to get this moving again. But Haven was two days journey away as it is, and two days back with help. And that was trusting he had some urgency in his step and wouldn’t get waylaid the first tavern he set his eyes on. Korval didn’t have that trust. 

He watched as a small speck appeared traveling from the north - not unusual, they weren’t the only one makes their way towards the conclave. There had been plenty of people to pass by, refugees, travelers, even a few Templars, though none of them had much interest in helping his lost cause of a wagon. The speck eventually turned into a figure, an elven woman with a heavy skirt and a pair of baskets balanced across her shoulders. Likely another refugee, though they usually traveled in groups. Poor woman must have gotten separated.

“Think she can help?” Fagrin chuckled as she got closer, nudging Korval in the side. 

“Go sharpen your axe or something, I’m not paying you to just stand around,” Korval scowled, hardly in the mood for jokes. Fagrin grumbled, knocking the last few embers out of his pipe before tucking it back into his pocket. Korval watched him as he ambled off over to the wagon to look busy. By his ancestors, if he wasn’t his third cousin by his poor mother, Stone rest her spirit-

“Excuse me.” Korval almost jumped, turning around to see the elven woman smiling kindly at him from the dryer side of the road. She had a soft face that made him think she was someone’s favorite aunt, the sort that always slipped you a sweet or a few coppers from her pocket when your parents weren’t looking. “Would you like some help?” she asked.

“No, I just stuck myself in here for the fun of it,” Korval puffed, before taking a deep breath. Mum had raised him better than that. “Sorry, it’s been a long day,” he apologized, shaking his head. Her smile didn’t faulter.

“Here, I’ve got a talent for this sort of thing,” she said, placing her baskets down and hoisting her skirts up to her knees. She said it with such confidence he didn’t even question her. Andraste, it was worth a shot at least. Better than sitting here growing his beard. 

Half an hour later, and somehow by the Maker’s grace they were out. He would have suspected there was some magic involved but he was sure magic wouldn’t have left them all so muddy and huffing and puffing when it was done. She’d mentioned something about being raised Dalish, and if the tattoos on her face were anything to go on, well, they knew a thing or two about wagons. 

“Listen, uh-”

“Min,” the woman introduced herself as they all caught their breath.

“Min,” Korval said. “Look, I’m not sure where you’re headed, but I’m bringing these supplies over to Haven, and well, I’d be happy to offer you whatever space you can find between all the boxes,” he told her, a little flustered. If she’d asked right then, he probably would have hired her on the spot and paid a good wage too - she made Fagrin and Rodrin look like a bad investment. “As repayment for you helping and all.”

“Oh, that would be wonderful,” Min said. “If you’re sure it wouldn’t be a bother…”

“Not at all, not at all,” Korval insisted. “And uh, just in case we get stuck again-”

“I’m sure I can make myself useful,” she said, smiling.

\---

Imira was grateful for the chance to rest her feet. She’d hardly consider herself out of shape but well, it’d been quite a few years since she’d traveled so extensively, and even when the clan moved between their summer and winter camps she spent most of her time on the aravels. Besides, what would Blessed Sylaise think of her leaving a poor merchant stranded in the road like that? Particularly one so full of information that was happy to gossip with a poor elven refugee. They hadn’t even reached the Conclave yet and she’d already gotten the rundown of who was in charge of what, where alliances were growing, and when the real action was supposed to happen. Soon, apparently. 

With the sun beginning to set on the second day of travel, a sea of flickering campfire began to appear in the far distance. As they got closer, the patrols of suspicious scouts and tired groups of travelers camped down in what cover they could find became more and more frequent, and slowly Haven came into view. A small huddle of hastily repaired buildings, surrounded by a small city worth of refugees and Templars and mages all crammed together in whatever makeshift shelter they could put together. Off in the distance, the shadow of what must be the Temple of Sacred Ashes sat like a tired dragon. Korval had told her most of the important people were camped out there, likely in far more sturdy tents that could fend off the cold mountain air. 

“This is where they chose to hold the Conclave?” she said, pursing her lips as they passed a small camp off the side of the road, and what must have been a family that looked as if they were carrying the remnants of a much more peaceful life. A small girl was crying, clinging to her mother’s skirts near the campfire. 

“At least Val Royeux is warmer,” Fagrin agreed, bringing up the back of their little caravan. 

“I’ll be right back,” Imira said, slipping off the back of the wagon, but not before grabbing something from her pack. She smiled and raised a hand in greeting as she neared the campfire. The woman regarded her with suspicion, pushing her daughter behind her.

“We don’t have any money, nor any food to spare,” she said harshly.

“Ir abelas, I only wanted to offer the little one a spare blanket,” Imira said, stopping a respectful distance away. The blanket in her hands had been meant as a gift for a baby the clan expected in the spring, something she’d made to keep her hands busy on the journey over, but this family could use it much more now. She offered it to the woman. “It’s halla wool, it’ll keep out the winter air.”

“I… we can’t afford that,” the woman said after a moment. Her face had softened only to harden again.

“I’m not selling, I’m giving,” Imira explained patiently. She understood her hesitation. “As a mother, it’s the very least I can do. I’m sorry I cannot offer much more, though I do have a few rations in my bag and-”

“It’s alright,” the woman relented, and her hard exterior collapsed to the point that she seemed about to cry. Hoisting the small girl onto her hip, she moved from the fire to accept the gift. “M’name’s Eira. This is Allewyn. Say thank you, Winnie,” she told the little girl sternly as she wrapped the blanket around her shoulders. She was young enough it was still quite big enough for her - Dalish baby blankets were meant to last. The halla wool made it soft and warm enough to quiet the worst of her tears.

“Thank’m,” Winnie said shyly. 

“You’re very welcome, Winnie,” Imira said, smiling brightly at the little girl. “The war has brought you here, hasn’t it?” Imira asked Eira.

“We had a farm in the Hinterlands, but the fighting got too bad, it wasn’t safe. People were saying the Divine was coming here to help us, so we came, but so did everyone else.” She wrinkled her nose. “We were camped closer to Haven at first, but it’s too damn crowded, so we moved out here. Dennon’s a fair shot with a bow,” she said, gesturing towards a tall man at the edge of the camp who nodded at them. “So we ent too worried about wolves, and we’re still close enough to the Templars who still know what their duty is enough ta scare people off from misbehavin’. What about you, uh…?” She glanced not so subtly at Imira’s vallaslin.

“Min,” Imira introduced herself, feeling exceptionally more guilty than when she had lied to Korval. “I came to help, that’s all,” she said. She’d save the yarns for when she arrived at Haven. 

“Well, you have,” Eira said, giving her a genuine smile. 

“Min!” Fagrin shouted from the crest of the road. Korval had stopped the wagon to wait for her, and Imira gave them an apologetic wave.

“I’m sorry,” she said to Eira, clasping her hand. It was rough and sturdy, and Imira silently said a prayer to Sylaise to guide them through all this. “I hope that this settles soon, and you can return to your home,” she told her. “It was very nice meeting you, Winnie,” she added, leaning down to smile brightly at the little girl. She smiled back shyly. 

“Maker watch over you!” Eira called as Imira jogged back to the wagon, waving a goodbye. 

“They’ll not be the only ones needing charity,” Fagrin chided her as she rejoined them, falling into step next to him as Korval got the druffalos moving again. “You know that, don’t you?”

“I know,” Imira said, sighing. 

\---

Fagrin had been right, of course. The misery only amplified as they finally reached Haven and slowly made their way past the shantytown of shelters and tents that spiraled out from the Chantry in the middle of the village. Now refugees huddled in with wayward Circle mages and Templars on the edge of their nerves, and all the assorted spies and thieves and vultures that saw misfortune as a business opportunity. 

“Shouldn’t the Chantry be helping them?” Imira asked. She had come here to gather information, not to render aid, but she still had her vows to Sylaise. It was one thing to assist a few travelers along the road or offer a spare blanket, but this… She felt overwhelmed. 

“Should be,” Fagrin agreed grimly. “You gonna be alright fending for yourself out here?” he asked, eyeing Imira where she sat doing her best to look to look meek and inoffensive as they rolled past a group of soldiers. 

“I’m sure I’ll make due,” Imira reassured him. 

“Korval was talking about hiring you on, you know. He’s my cousin, I could push him a bit if you want,” he said helpfully. Imira smiled as she entertained the idea. The two dwarves had been respectful company the past few days, even if she’d shared mostly lies with them. She was also fairly certain Fagrin had developed a small crush on her, which she’d absolutely encouraged every chance she’d got. She’d spent twenty years in a forest with the same clanmates, after all. But she had her own things to take care of. No sense acting like a spring apprentice.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t,” she said, acting flustered. 

“KORVAL!”

The wagon shuddered to a halt, and Imira watched as a golden-haired dwarf broke away from a small group of Templars and chantry officials to make a beeline towards Korval as he hopped down from the driver’s seat. Fagrin sighed and moved to join his employer, leaving Imira alone at the back of the wagon. She peeked around as the other dwarf joined them, and he caught her eye, meeting her purposefully demure smile with a broad grin.

“I see you made a new friend!” he called cheerfully as he reached the wagon. 

“Don’t mind him,” Korval assured Imira. She watched as he subtly - but not subtly enough - slipped a small package discreetly into the other dwarf’s hands. He received a small but heavy looking purse of what Imira could only assume was gold in return. “Varric just likes to pester people.”

“You besmirch my good name, Korval,” Varric said with a broad smile, quickly slipping the package into his coat. Catching her off guard, he walked over and offered a hand to Imira. “Varric Tethras,” he said as she took it clumsily. “Businessman, storyteller, occasional rogue.” He was handsome, if a little disheveled, and wore his shirt open almost down to the sash at his waist. An interesting choice in this chilly weather.

“Aren’t you cold?” Imira asked before she could stop herself, unable to hold back her years of trying to wrangle the clan’s children through the winter months. 

“Not enough to deny anyone the view,” he answered with a wink, and despite herself, Imira blushed. “I don’t think I got your name,” he added, ignoring the others to focus on her.

“I, uh, I’m Min,” she said, not having to fake her lack of composure this time. His clothes were very fine, though they had seen better days, but judging by his little exchange with Korval he certainly had some level of money and influence. People like that didn’t normally bother with people like her. Or rather, people like who she was pretending to be. “I’m just a servant,” she assured him, averting her eyes in what she knew to be a very coy and attractive manner. Two could play at this game.

“Where do you want these?” Korval interrupted loudly, distracting him. Fagrin took the opportunity to put himself between them as he grabbed a crate, giving Varric a sour look when his back was turned. 

“Watch out for him, he gets people into trouble,” he said in a low voice as soon as they were out of earshot. A tired looking Templar commander had come over to speak with the other two dwarves, and there was some gesturing towards a dilapidated supply shed across the muddy square. Imira grabbed a smaller crate and helped Fagrin begin moving the contents of the cart over. 

“You know him?” she asked, taking another glance at Varric. He grinned, already watching her. She looked away quickly. 

“He’s from Kirkwall, was all wrapped up in that mess with the Champion,” Fagrin explained. “That’s why he got dragged here, he’s in some sort of trouble with the Seekers.” Imira nodded, vaguely aware of what he was talking about. She was very out of practice for a spy. “He’s in the Merchant Guild too, bunch of cutthroats,” he added. “That’s why Korval’s out here ‘n all. He’s got deep pockets. And bad intentions.” Imira was careful not to look directly at Tethras, as much as she wanted to. 

“So… you’re smuggling for him?” She’d waited till they were out of earshot again, hauling another load over to the shed. She hadn’t bothered to look inside the boxes the cart had been carrying before, assuming they were simple supplies, but perhaps there was more to them. Weapons? Lyrium? 

“Don’t know about that,” Fagrin said diplomatically. “I just know you should steer clear of him. Tch, there’s that rat bastard. Rodrin!” 

Imira was left briefly alone as a ginger dwarf sheepishly joined the others, and Fagrin jogged over to assist as Korval began chewing out their waylaid companion. Imira glanced to make sure she was clear, then quietly opened the thankfully loose lid of one of the crates. Inside was… blankets. Warm woolen blankets. 

“Min! Get over here!” Imira jumped, but assumed Korval hadn’t caught her snooping when he smiled as he waved her over. She purposefully avoided Varric’s gaze. If he’d noticed anything, he didn’t say it. “This layabout finally showed up, so you don’t need to worry about those crates,” Korval said, gesturing at Rodrin. 

“I told you it wasn’t my fault,” the ginger grumbled.

“I ent paying you to make excuses. You two, back to work unloading,” he said sharply. Fagrin gave Imira a nod, then shoved Rodrin towards the cart. “Here, for you help,” Korval said, shaking a silver coin out of his purse. He offered it to Imira.

“Oh no, you already gave me a ride, I couldn’t,” she insisted, if only for posterity. Though humility was one of the things she prayed to the Creators for, she knew better than to turn up her nose at some coin.

“Bah, you earned it filling in for Rodrin while he sat about in the pub for a day,” he said, pressing it into her hand. She hesitated, just for show, then placed it into her pocket. She’d slip it somewhere more secure later. 

“Thank you, ser, it’s greatly appreciated,” she said, bowing her head. 

“Korval said you came all the way from the Free Marches,” Varric cut in before she could politely excuse herself. “From the Circle in, what was it, Hercinia?” Imira suppressed her internal panic, wondering if he’d been sharp enough to see through the lies she’d told Korval, but outwardly, she smiled.

“Yes, ser, I was a servant there. The Knight-Commander was a very kind man, I hoped to find him and see if I could be of any assistance to the Order in these dark times,” she said meekly. 

“That’s a pretty long way to walk just to talk to your old boss,” he said, and Imira could detect the slightest hint of suspicion behind his words. She smiled again, forlornly this time.

“I didn’t have anywhere else to go, I’m afraid,” she said, bowing her head. 

“Varric,” Korval hissed under his breath, having some tact. “You still owe me a drink,” he said more openly, throwing an arm pointedly around the other dwarf’s shoulders. “You take care of yourself, Min. If this lot doesn’t work out for you, we’re headed back to Kirkwall in two days time, and I’m sure I’d make use of you on the journey,” he told her.

“Thank you, ser, you’ve been very kind to me,” Imira said humbly, bowing as Korval lead Tethras away. He caught her eye one last time as she glanced up, and smiled. This time, she kept his gaze and smiled back. She was certain it wouldn’t be the last time she’d be seeing him.


	2. Another Round

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric runs into a nice Dalish lady again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> imira: don’t be suspicious doon’t be suspicious don’t be SUSPICIOUS don’t be suspicious

“So, you just found a Dalish elf on the side of the road?” Varric asked Korval as he guided him towards Haven’s musty excuse for a tavern. There was something about that Min that piqued his interest, and Dalish didn’t usually leave their clan without a good reason. She had to have some sort of angle.

“She said her clan was wiped out some years back, I didn’t press it,” Korval told him. “So don’t bring it up.”

“Please, I have tact,” Varric scoffed. Well, that was certainly a reason to strike out on your own. “But I’ve never really known you to be one for charity, Korval,” Varric added, glancing back one last time before they turned a corner. Min had her back turned to him, chatting with one of Korval’s guards, the one who kept shooting him dirty looks. Probably sweet on her. She admittedly had quite a charming smile.

“It’s not charity,” Korval snorted. “She’s tougher than she looks. I was this close to abandoning the cart outright, then she turns up and gets the whole thing out in less than an hour, got the druffs doing as she asks like she raised ‘em herself. Probably used to it with the aravels an’ all. Doesn’t even ask for payment aside from a ride.”

“There’s just something about her, like… I don’t know,” Varric said, frowning. “I can’t pin it down.”

“She’s Dalish,” Korval shrugged. 

“That’s not what I meant,” he said. He’d met the Dalish, was good friends with one. It was odd to see one here, sure, but not necessarily suspicious. And it wasn’t that Min had seemed shifty, she’d been as up front as he could have expected. “It just feels like there’s more to her,” he explained lamely. 

“Gettin’ into everyone’s business as usual, I see,” Korval said. 

“It’s what I do.” The tavern was crowded, as usual, and Varric shoved his way to the bar to order a round of piss water beers for the two of them. They managed to grab a table in the corner.

The conversation drifted to business, then Kirkwall, then cards were produced and the gambling began. Korval lost three rounds before he excused himself saying he had other business to attend to. Varric never had trouble rounding up new friends, though. He’d hung around the tavern enough nights now it wasn’t hard to find a few people who were willing to wager their coin. He’d been making a sizable profit when he caught a particularly intriguing flash of raven hair by the door. 

“Let me cover the next round,” he said, quickly excusing himself from the group to elbow his way through the crowd. Min was pressed up against the far wall, hesitating as she eyed the rowdy bar patrons. Varric got to her just in time to block an excessively tipsy guard from falling into her. 

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he told her.

“I didn’t expect to come here,” she admitted, looking flustered. “But it started snowing and there weren’t many places to go.”

“Do you drink?” Varric asked her, offering her an arm. 

“N-not usually,” she said, hesitating before taking it with a heavy blush on her cheeks. She was attractive, albeit in a matronly sort of way. High collar and hair swept back into a soft bun. He could see why Korval’s guard seemed smitten with her. 

“Have you eaten?” Varric asked her, more seriously. 

“Not yet, but you don’t-”

“Flissa! Do you have any of that stew left?” Varric called as he elbowed his way to the bar, dragging Min along with him. The frazzled barkeep shot him a tired look as she finished serving several rowdy scouts, then made her way over to him.

“Just the dredges, if you’re not fussy,” she told Varric. She didn’t bat an eye at the nervous woman on his arm, but he did catch her giving Min a sympathetic look. 

“I’m not,” Min insisted, reaching for her pocket, but Varric stopped her, dropping a few of his own copper on the bartop. She fumbled out a shy “Thank you.” 

“And another round of ale for my table and-” He glanced at Min. “Whatever she’s having.”

“Do you have any tea?” she asked Flissa meekly. 

“I think I’ve got a pot somewhere, I’ll see what I can do,” she told her. “Don’t let him push you around too much,” she added before hustling off. 

“She’s the second person to warn me about you,” Min said, and something about her suddenly felt different. Confident. Mysterious. But only for a moment, and then she smiled nervously and bowed her head. “But you have been very kind to me. They must have been mistaken.”

“Ha, they’re probably right,” he told her, watching closely for that glimmer in her eye, but he didn’t see it. “Who else was warning you about me?” he asked curiously. 

“Fagrin,” she said, seeming embarassed. Korval’s guard. It’d figure a muscle like him would have a bad opinion of him. Probably owed him money. “He said you were, uh, part of the Merchant’s Guild? Is that a bad thing?”

“Unfortunately,” he scoffed. “But I promise I’m not as bad as the rest of them,” he added with a grin. Being part of the Guild was common knowledge, so he wasn’t worried about sharing, even if she might be some sort of spy. Though considering how easily she’d named Fagrin, she wasn’t one for guarding her sources very well. Or maybe she was, and she was just pretending to be a bad one-

“Here.” Flissa slid three flagons of ale onto the bar in front of him, along with a sad bowl of stew, some bread he knew from experience was hard enough to break a tooth, and a small pot of tea that looked like it’d been dug out of some rubble. “You carry ‘em over, I’ve got enough work to do,” she said before turning to her other customers. Varric barely managed to grab one flagon before Min had expertly balanced the other two, her stew, and the teapot on her arms. So that was one credit to her ‘I’m just a servant’ story. She smiled brightly at him.

“Lead the way,” she said.

So Varric did, forcing a path through the crowd to the small table in the back corner, shoving one of the scouts over on the bench to make room for Min. She shot her an apologetic look as she took a seat, though the arrival of a fresh round certainly helped smooth over any hard feelings.

“This is Min, she traveled all the way from the Free Marches. Try to be nice,” Varric said to the group. They were a mixed bag, as most of his company tended to be. Threnn was the quartermaster, and from drinking with her the past few nights he’d learned that underneath her rough exterior was an equally rough interior. The scout that had joined them tonight went by the name Sonner and asked more questions than she answered, so probably one of Leliana’s people. Then there was Rodrin, Korval’s unlucky employee who’d only joined them when he was sure his boss wasn’t looking. 

“Be careful with him,” Threnn warned Min. “He’s always got ulterior motives. Been buying us drinks all night so we’ll spill our secrets and lose all our coin.”

“This is a blatant attack on my good character,” Varric said, frowning. That’s three people who’d warned poor Min off him now, and two to his face. At least in Kirkwall people would wait till your back was turned. Despite her accusations, Threnn began to deal them all in to a new round of Wicked Grace.

“Oh, I’m not very good at cards,” Min said as a hand was placed in front of her. “And I don’t have much coin,” she added, picking up the cards to observe them carefully. Varric watched her as she did, but if she was pretending to be bad at cards, she deserved a spot on the Orlesian stage for it. 

“Don’t worry, you don’t have to bet anything if you don’t want to,” Varric reassured her, earning a bitter glare from Threnn, who he had personally egged on last round into a week’s wages. It was her fault for taking it.

Min looked contemplative as the others put in their bets, and when he put forward a sizable chunk of the sovereigns he’d already won, she delicately placed a few coppers out of a very light coin purse next to them. Varric almost felt guilty, and resolved to slip them back to her at the end of the night.

“So you’re Dalish?” Sonner shot from her corner of the table. Remembering Korval’s words, he shot the scout a warning look. 

“Once,” Min said, with a sad smile. “But my clan has since passed beyond this world. I’ve made my living as a servant ten years now. Oh, but I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sadden the conversation!” she added nervously. “Let us speak of happier things.”

“These are hardly happy times,” Sonner said grimly as she drew a card. Spoken like a true spy. 

“Well you don’t have to pry,” Varric told her. He gently angled Min’s cards back towards her, so Threnn couldn’t see them. “You said you were looking for a Knight-Commander, from Hercinia?” Varric said to Min. “Maybe I can help you find him. What’s his name?”

“Now who’s prying?” Sonner said.

“I’m helping,” he insisted.

“Oh, I really don’t want to be any trouble,” Min cut in, ending the argument. “I know I don’t look it, but I can take care of myself,” she insisted, looking a little flustered.

“So I’ve heard,” he said, grinning at her. He was waiting for her to slip up again, to give him something to tip off what her real story was, but… Nothing. Just a sweet Dalish lady lost in the world. He felt momentarily guilty for doubting her. Maybe that look before was just a trick of the light. “I don’t have much else to do while I’m sitting around here, though. So humor me.”

“So why are you here, then?” Min asked as she drew a card. An innocent enough question, even if it was a deflection. Not a single tell, at least for her motivations. She was damn awful at cards, he thought, as her face lit up slightly while she rearranged her hand. 

“I’m a guest, of sorts. I won’t bore you with the details,” he told her slyly.

“He’s a prisoner,” Sonner corrected him.

“I wrote a book and now the Divine wants to chat with me,” Varric scoffed as Min looked alarmed. “It was about what went down in Kirkwall, the Champion’s whole story, you know. It’s still a bestseller,” he added proudly. “The Tale of the Champion?” he said, his pride sinking just a little bit as Min gave him a blank look.

“I haven’t read it, I’m sorry,” she said with an apologetic smile. “I’m sure it’s very good,” she added encouragingly. 

“It’s alright,” he said, frowning as he looked at his cards. Not his best hand. 

“I’ve read it,” Rodrin chimed in helpfully. “That one bit, where you and Hawke fight off some fifty slavers to help that Tevinter elf, I liked that bit. An’ he pulls the man’s heart right out of his chest like-“ Rodrin made a rough gesture and spluttering noise to imitate the slaver’s death rattle. Thank the Maker that Fenris wasn’t here to witness it.

“Fifty?” Min raised an eyebrow at Varric, and as bad as she was at cards, she seemed to be reading him like a true shark. “That’s very impressive. You must be quite a warrior.” Threnn snorted.

“Or quite a liar,” she said. 

“I would never,” Varric said with an insulted gasp. “You’re stalling. Draw a card.” Threnn did so, and barely even tried to conceal a frustrated groan. He’d learned her well enough to know it wasn’t a bluff. 

“I forget, are the snakes good or bad?” Min whispered to Varric as Rodrin drew his cards.

“You just want them to match,” Varric told her. She was worse at this than he’d anticipated. He glared at Threnn when he caught her looking at Min’s cards, and the quartermaster grudgingly looked away. “You know, Threnn here used to serve under the infamous Loghain,” he said, deflecting the conversation away from himself. “I’m sure she’s got some interesting stories to tell.”

“Buy me another drink and I’ll think about it,” she told him.

“Win this round and you can buy yourself one,” he said.

“So you enjoy stories, I take it?” Min asked him. He caught her eye and for a split second there it was again. There was something calculating in there. He smiled at her and then it was gone.

“Everything he says is some kind of story,” Threnn supplied. “Shady bastard. Fuck!” she declared as she pulled the Angel of Death. With the deciding card drawn, she laid down her hand with a small amount of triumph. It wasn’t too bad.

“Oh, very nice,” Varric said, giving her a moment to gloat before enjoying the look of defeat on her face as he laid out his near perfect hand. Sonner set her hand down with a heavy frown, and Rodrin’s was even worse. They all turned to Min expectantly. He remembered the glint in her eye and for a moment half-expected it to return, and for her to lay out a perfect hand and make off with the gold- maybe that was what it was, she was a swindler and he’d set himself up perfectly as a mark. 

His hopes were dashed as she laid out an unquestionably abysmal hand, about as bad as you can get. She looked at them expectantly. “Who won?” she asked.

“Not you,” Varric said, grinning. Threnn swore loudly as he collected his winnings.

“Fuck it, I’m off,” she said, standing up and downing the last of her ale in one impressive swig. “Some of us have duties around here,” she added pointedly to Varric.

“Same time tomorrow?” he called as she shoved her way through the crowd. She answered him with a hand gesture the Maker would have blushed at. “She’s nice, just a little blunt,” he reassured Min. “Up another round?” he asked the others. Sonner had already left the table without a word, probably off to report to someone about what he was up to. Pretty boring report, in his opinion. 

“I should be heading off,” Rodrin said, standing up. “Boss wants us up early tomorrow, and I’ve lost enough as it is.” He disappeared off into the crowd, leaving Varric with Min. She smiled at him, making no move to leave.

“I wouldn’t mind another round,” she said, though eyeing the purse she kept at her waist, he wasn’t sure she could afford it.

“We don’t need to play for sovereigns,” he said. “How about information?” he asked her slyly.

“What kind?” she asked, confused. “You probably know more about what’s going on than I do.”

“Not that kind of information,” he assured her. “Just… questions. Tell me about yourself.”

“You don’t need to beat me at cards for that,” she said with a small laugh. “I’m sure I’m very boring compared to your usual company, but please feel free to ask, ser.”

“Just Varric, please,” he insisted, setting the cards down. “But alright. Why come here? I know you mentioned that Knight-Commander, but you must have had some other options. The Circle wasn’t the only employer in Hercinia.”

“Well, you see…” Min hesitated for a long moment, then leaned in, blushing. “We were… close,” she added quietly.

“Ah.” So it was a torrid romance. That explained all the secrecy on her part. A Knight-Commander and an elven servant would certainly spark all sorts of rumors. He felt bad for the woman, the fact that she’d had to chase him halfway across the continent didn’t bode well for the man’s commitment. “Are you sure you don’t want some help tracking him down? I’ve been trapped here long enough I might recognize the name-“

“No, no, I dare not,” she said, shaking her head adamantly. “If anyone else were to find out, I fear he would face a scandal. I… I simply wish to see him, quietly, if I can. Please, you must promise me, you will speak this to no one,” she said, her eyes pleading. They were very pretty eyes. If he’d been writing a book about this, he might have compared them to amethysts, or maybe some sort of deep purple flower. He’d seen pansies in that color, but that didn’t seem very poetic.

“I swear on my ancestors,” he told her solemnly. At least he wouldn’t purposefully get her in trouble, she seemed nice enough. Her Knight-Commander, who knows. If he found out he was an asshole, well, the ancestors could get fucked. “So if that doesn’t work out, where will you go from there?” he asked.

“I’m sure I could still find work here,” she said. “Or perhaps Kirkwall? You said you were from there, didn’t you? It seems like a very nice city.”

“That’s one way to put it,” he snorted. He was starting to doubt the possibility that Min had ulterior motives. Maybe it had just been a trick of the light earlier. “It certainly has it’s charms.”

“Like you,” Min said, looking away to hide the blush on her cheeks. Varric was certainly flattered, even if she wasn’t quite his type. He supposed buying a woman a drink, even if it was just tea, might give her some ideas. Perhaps she wasn’t so smitten with her Knight-Commander after all.

“Exactly like me,” he said, flashing a smile. He was easily encouraged. “I’d much rather be in Kirkwall than this frozen pisshole. If I’m going to get stabbed, I’d rather be stabbed in reasonable weather.”

“You don’t seem particularly fond of this place,” Min observed. 

“There’s not much to be fond of,” Varric scoffed, not even trying to hide his disdain. “There’s some alright people mixed in, mostly on the lower end of the hierarchy. Up towards the top…” He shook his head. “Either too far up their own ass or too far up the Maker’s ass if you ask me. They don’t care about who they step on as long as they get what they want.”

“And where do you fit in?” she asked him. He gave her a long look.

“Somewhere in the middle, I suppose. Probably a bit more up my own ass than I’d like to admit,” he said, earning a laugh from her. She seemed to like his jokes, which he always considered a mark of good taste. “Really, I’m just stuck here till I get an audience with the Divine to assure her she has no reason to get me or my friend mixed up in all of this. And who knows when that will happen.” 

“Could you not simply leave? You’ve certainly got the run of the place for a prisoner. And the guards hardly seem organized enough to prevent you from slipping by.” An incredibly astute observation for someone purporting to be a servant. Varric eyed her yet again, but she gave nothing away. 

“There’s one road out of here, and it’s swarming with Chantry agents,” he told her. “Off trail, you’ve got mountains and dense woodlands, you’d need to be an experienced tracker to find your way through those alone. I figure it’s better to wait it out and enjoy the company this fair dung heap has to offer,” he told her, tipping his glass to her. “You’d be a good spy, you know,” he added slyly. He watched her closely for a reaction, but she just smiled politely. 

“I don’t think so, ser.”

“Varric,” he corrected her. “I mean it. You’re inconspicuous, but charming. But not in a dangerous way, either.”

“I’m not sure if you’re being flattering or not now,” Min said, but kept her smile. She was a hard one to read. “I don’t think I’d have anyone to spy on or know what to do with what I found, anyway,” she said, demurely looking away. 

“Lots of people forget servants have ears,” he told her. “if you overhear anything interesting while you’re making your way around here, you can come back to me,” he said, and slid the handful of silver she had put down at the beginning of their game back to her. Either she was already a spy, and he might be able to get her in his pocket, or he’d read his cues wrong and she really was just some nice Dalish lady looking for work. In which case, he’d be giving her some.

“Oh no, I can’t,” she said, pushing it back. “You won that fair. And I told you, I wouldn’t be much of a spy anyway. I’m no good at sneaking around or dropping eaves.”

“Listen, I won’t be able to sleep tonight knowing I took some sweet down-on-her-luck maid’s last few silvers, and you don’t need to spy persay, just… Keep an ear out for gossip,” he said. Taking her hand, he placed the silvers in her palm and closed her fingers firmly around them. She frowned at him, then tucked them back into her purse.

“I don’t like taking payment for what I haven’t earned,” she said, and picked up the deck of cards he had discarded on the table. She began shuffling them with an elegance he hadn’t expected from how badly a hand she’d played earlier. 

“Going to challenge me to another round then?” he said.

“No.” She stopped shuffling, and lay the cards down in a neat, straight pile on the table between them, before drawing a card. “I’m going to tell you your fortune,” she said. “Pick three cards. please.” Varric hesitated, then carefully chose his cards, deliberately choosing from different parts of the deck in case she’d tried to stack them a certain way. He handed them to her, and with a flourish she laid the first one face up. A vicious looking serpent with two heads and three arrows piercing it was printed in thick red ink. 

“That seems ominous,” he said with an amused smile. He’d seen his share of fortune tellers shuffling around the underbelly of Kirkwall, and while there were tales of legitimate soothsayers and prophecies out there, from what he had seen it was usually not much more than a parlor trick. Most mages didn’t even bother with it.

“It depends how you read the card,” Min said. “The Serpent of Deceit could represent either you, or someone else-“

“So, anyone really,” Varric scoffed. 

“And as the first card pulled, it only informs upon the present,” she continued, ignoring him. “And it tells me that either you, or someone close to you, is keeping a secret that could hurt someone. Are you keeping secrets, Ser Tethras?” she asked him, meeting his eyes.

“Varric,” he corrected her, meeting them back. She smiled, and placed the second card face up. A clunky looking knight with what must have been a rose on his shield. This wasn’t one of his better decks. He hadn’t had a chance to grab his Antivan-Rhineland before he was dragged out of Kirkwall.

“Together these two tell me that while you might be deceitful, your intentions are good. The Knight of Roses represents love and affection. Perhaps you bend the truth to protect someone you care about?” she said. He took a drink from his ale to give himself an excuse to look away.

“When does the fortune telling start?” he asked her. “So far you’re just drawing vague conclusions.”

“The first two cards tell me who you are,” she explained, poising to draw another. “The second two tell me who you are to become.” The third card was placed. A harp with red splotches surrounding. “Song of Autumn. A shift, or change. You’ve already found yourself uprooted to new surroundings, but Thedas is in a period of upheaval. You may find yourself forced into a new role or responsibility you did not plan for.” 

“So what you’re telling me is the future is uncertain,” he said. 

“Perhaps you should try your hand at fortune-telling,” she teased him, holding the remaining deck out to him. “Shuffle it and draw your final card.”

If only to be polite, he did so, and once he was satisfied there were no tricks she could have possibly set up, pulled the one on the very top. He set it face up for her, and the clear visage of a skeleton with red wings stared grimly up at them.

“Angel of Death, huh? Let me guess, I’m going to die,” he grinned at her.

“Everyone dies,” Min said grimly, cutting into Varric’s humor a bit. “But Death rarely represents your own death. Just as in Wicked Grace, it can signal both loss or triumph. Paired with the others….” She considered the row of cards for a moment, before looking at him with an unsettling focus. “You lie to protect those that you care about, but those lies still have consequences that you will soon have to confront. Depending on how you decide to act, you may grow from this, or lose that you sought to protect.” She slid the remaining deck over to him. “Pick one last card,” she told him.

“What will that do?” he asked.

“Advise you how to act,” she said. He frowned, skeptical, then gingerly picked up the card at the bottom of the pile. He showed it to her.

“Angel of Truth,” he said, grinning. “So, what, I should tell the truth?”

“Yes,” Min said simply. “Trust your feelings and speak what feels true to you.”

“The truth is,” he said, putting the card face down on the table. “You’re very good at reading people and trying to spook them by giving them advice based on symbolism on a bunch of playing cards you laid out on a table.” Surprisingly, Min laughed.

“Isn’t that what fortune telling is?” she said, putting the cards back in the pile. “Everyone needs advice, ser. Sometimes they’ll listen better if they think it’s given by powers beyond ourselves. My mother used to read fortunes to earn coin when our clan passed by some of the larger cities. Usually young people who needed help with relationships, or merchants who couldn’t decide how to invest.”

“Varric. And what you’re saying is I need to... lie less?” Varric asked.

“That’s generally considered a good thing.”

“Not in my circles,” he told her. “Mostly a self-preservation thing, you know how it goes.”

“I do,” she said, smiling, and there was that look in her eye again. “That’s why it’s only advice.” She finished that last of her tea and stood. “I thank you for your time, your company, and your kind offer,” she said, bowing slightly. “And I wish you well.”

“Wait a second-“ Varric began to say, but was distracted by a loud shout as Flissa broke up some idiots about to start a brawl near the bar. When he turned back, Min was gone, not even a wisp of black hair visible in the crowd. He settled back down, disappointed. She’d been an entertaining conversation partner, at the very least. Part of him hoped he’d run into her again


End file.
